


The Sound of My Own Voice (Asking You To Stay)

by JustGail



Series: Come Back To Me [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: (current) - Freeform, (past) - Freeform, Blow Job, Eskel Has Feelings, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hand Job, I really am doing this to myself huh, M/M, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Smut, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Eskel, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, and he'll get there, and is learning to use! his! words!, discussions of poetry that I made up, flirting via poetry, pure author appeal, the smut is in the third chapter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 09:41:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24468886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGail/pseuds/JustGail
Summary: Waking up every morning tangled with Geralt’s limbs was essentially Jaskier’s dream come true, and Geralt certainly wasn’t complaining.The only thing that came even close to bothering Jaskier was Eskel.Eskel washovering.
Relationships: Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Come Back To Me [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1767430
Comments: 66
Kudos: 419





	1. First Touch

**Author's Note:**

> I told you last time I do what I want, and this time is no exception.  
> I still haven't read the books or played the games, but I have read An Exaltation of Wolves by round_robin and pretty much everything rawrkinjd has written, and I fully blame them for the existence of this fic. Go read their stuff, it's better than mine is anyway.  
> This is a direct sequel to The Loves of Jaskier, Bard Extraordinaire, although I suppose you don't _have_ to read it to get this.
> 
> Title is from Treacherous by Taylor Swift.

“I don’t really get it,” Eskel said, sitting down in the same spot Geralt had sat only a week before, the day that he finally apologized to Jaskier (and also kissed him, and taken him to his bedroom, and – )

“Get what?” Jaskier said, tuning his lute carefully.

“I know you make him happy,” Eskel said. “I can see it. When he’s near you, it’s like – “ He cuts off, stares into the distance. “It’s like he was carrying the world on his shoulders, and now he has someone to carry it with him.”

Jaskier, who had his head turned down towards his lute and therefore mostly hidden from view, let his mouth stretch into a small smile. He schooled his expression into something more neutral, however, when he looked up to examine Eskel.

“He does,” Jaskier responded. Eskel’s expression grew distant, at that, as if he was imagining what that would be like. Jaskier hesitated, but then stretched his arm out and lightly touched Eskel’s shoulder.

Eskel flinched, and hissed, like it burned to be touched. And then, just like Jaskier, he schooled his expression into something neutral, impenetrable.

But just like Jaskier had learned to read Geralt, the more time Jaskier spent with the witchers in this keep, the easier it was for him to read the rest of them, and Eskel was no exception. Eskel wasn’t hurt, he was simply confused.

“I know it’s… hard,” Jaskier said. “The Path. And Geralt – oh, you know how he is. He feels like everything is his responsibility, even if he won’t admit it. The guilt seeps into his bones. I think – I _hope_ – that I help convince him otherwise. And sometimes – sometimes all he needs is to be held.”

“Held?” Eskel asked, his voice small and hesitant.

Jaskier nodded, but didn’t continue. If Eskel had something to say, he would have to say it himself.

Although Jaskier could tell that he was grappling with whatever it was he wanted to express, he did not do so. Instead, Eskel chose to rise, nod once in Jaskier’s direction, and stepped back into Kaer Morhen, leaving Jaskier alone, staring after him.

“You are _far_ too good at that,” Jaskier sighed, satisfied, falling back onto the bed as Geralt trailed kisses up his stomach.

Geralt smirked. “I try,” he said, finally pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s mouth and crashing right beside him, letting Jaskier wrap his arms around him and lean his head onto his _marvelous_ chest.

“You succeed,” Jaskier corrected, snuggling even closer. He pressed a soft kiss onto the curve of Geralt’s neck, and then, hesitantly, said: “Geralt, can I ask you something?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, which Jaskier, in possession of years of experience of interpreting Geralt’s humming, understood to mean “yes”.

“Where do we stand, exactly?”

Geralt’s eyes, which up until then had been drooping, blew right open. “What do you mean?” he asked carefully.

“Well.” Jaskier tasted the words on his tongue before continuing. “I know that I’m sharing you with Yennefer – and to be clear,” he hurried to add, “I do not mind. I may think that she’s a terrifying piece of work, but you love her – “ at the word love, Geralt made a choking sound Jaskier elected to ignore – “and I don’t resent her for that. But – “

“You want to know if I’m expecting you to…” Geralt seemed to struggle to find the words

“Be true?” Jaskier suggested lightly.

Geralt nodded once, then closed his eyes and lay his head back down on the pillow behind him. “No,” he said. “As long as you’re careful… No. I want you to be as happy as I am. As long as you come back to me.”

Geralt was definitely getting better with his words, and Jaskier beamed at him, despite knowing that Geralt couldn’t see his grin. But still –

“You’re sure?”

Geralt pressed a soft kiss to the top of Jaskier’s head. “I’m sure. Now go to sleep, little lark. It’s late as is, and we have an early morning ahead of us.”

A day before her expected return, Yennefer sent word that she would not return for the rest of winter. Geralt was clearly disappointed, but he didn’t seem as heartbroken as he might have been before this winter. Before _last week_. Waking up every morning tangled with Geralt’s limbs was essentially Jaskier’s dream come true, and Geralt certainly wasn’t complaining.

The only thing that came even close to bothering Jaskier was Eskel.

Eskel was _hovering_.

At first, Jaskier wondered if it was some kind of protective instinct, if Eskel thought that Jaskier was going to harm Geralt in some way. But that made no sense; Eskel had pushed them together, if anything, and up until Geralt’s apology in the small courtyard two weeks ago, he got along with Eskel best out of all of them. Eskel was intelligent, and well-read in a way that rivaled only Vesemir and Jaskier themselves, and funny, and despite, or perhaps because, of the scar that marred half his face, Jaskier also found him _incredibly_ handsome. In his Geralt-induced depression over the past couple of months, he hadn’t let himself really _look_ at Eskel, but now that he not only had Geralt, but knew that it would not bother Geralt if he _did_ look, he saw –

Well, it didn’t matter, because Eskel no longer seemed personable at all. If anything, he seemed bitter, and much harder to talk to than any of the other witchers. And he insisted on _lurking_ – whenever Eskel wasn’t doing something else and Jaskier wasn’t locked away in Geralt’s room, having some of the best sex of his entire life, Eskel was there, _looking_ at him, even if he pretended not to. When he ate, even just grabbing a snack in the kitchen, Eskel found an excuse to be there. When he went to visit Roach in the stables, Eskel was there to tend to his own horse. When Jaskier sat in the library, trying to concentrate on some volume or another, Eskel was there, pretending to read as well. And worst of all, when Jaskier escaped to his little courtyard to play or compose, half the time Eskel was there _as well_ , and the third time that happened, Jaskier snapped.

“What are you _doing_?” Jaskier yelled.

Eskel didn’t even have the decency to look sheepish, leveling a steady gaze at Jaskier. “I’m sitting in this courtyard.”

“You never used to come here _before_ ,” Jaskier spat.

“How would you know?” Eskel snorted. “Perhaps, in previous winters, I spent every free moment here, and it is _you_ who is intruding on _my_ space.”

Jaskier was pretty sure that that was a lie, but he didn’t have any proof, and decided to go another route. “Fine, then,” he said, putting his lute and notebook away, “I’ll go compose elsewhere then. Leave you to _your_ courtyard.”

But as Jaskier attempted to rise, Eskel grabbed his wrist, and for the first time in a long time, Jaskier heard actual emotion in his voice as he said, quietly, desperately, “Stay.”

Jaskier turned to look at the witcher and raised one eyebrow, pulling his hand free. “Why should I? You just said that I was intruding on your space. I figured the least I could do was go inside, where it is warmer and the space is shared.”

“I – “ Eskel sighed, rubbing his eyes with his knuckles. “I’m sorry. I just – please don’t leave.”

“Not unless you tell me what’s going on,” Jaskier said, gentle, but firm.

Eskel sighed again. “When you touched me – “

 _Ah_.

Jaskier knew what this was about.

The first time Jaskier touched Geralt, he growled at Jaskier in a way that was clearly meant to scare him off. It didn’t work, clearly. Jaskier knew that deep down Geralt was nothing more than a pup, at least when it came to him. In fact, Jaskier could never find it in himself to be scared of Geralt, even when he came back from a hunt with blackened eyes and covered in blood.

Soon, it became clear that Geralt simply didn’t know what to _do_ with platonic embraces. He only ever experienced the touch of another human being when he paid for it, or when it was violent. But Jaskier offered his touch freely, even before he fully admitted to himself the extent of his affections. And steadily, Geralt grew accustomed to the occasional tug or pet or shoulders brushing against one another, and then to thighs pressing against each other, and then to Jaskier helping clean his wounds and bandage him, and then letting him massage his aching muscles and wash his hair, something Jaskier always loved doing.

Less than a day passed after their kiss before Geralt admitted that he missed Jaskier washing his hair, and they headed down to the hot springs for Jaskier to do so again.

Eskel was there, of course, but that was before Jaskier noticed his pattern, and he kept his eyes closed for the entire duration of their visit, seemingly relaxed in the hot water.

Eskel didn’t finish his sentence, instead remaining quiet for the next minute or so. Jaskier decided to be merciful this time, however, and said, “Would you like me to touch you?”

Eskel made a choking noise in the back of his throat, not unlike the sound that Geralt made whenever Jaskier used the word _love_ , like it physically hurt them to accept affection. It made Jaskier’s heart ache.

“Yes,” he whispered, low, but just loud enough for Jaskier to hear.

“Come on, then,” Jaskier said. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s go inside, find somewhere comfortable.”

Eskel nodded, and they both stood up. Jaskier let Eskel lead the way; he wanted Eskel to feel safe. When they were far enough inside the keep, Jaskier took off his coat; he couldn’t wear gloves outside if he wanted to play, which is why he only played outside if it hadn’t snowed in a few days, but it was still unreasonably cold outside, and he wasn’t _that_ much of a fool.

Or, well, maybe he was, but Geralt would kill him if he hurt himself, so he made sure to wrap up as much as he could.

Eskel lead him, surprisingly, to the hot springs, and with only a glance thrown over his shoulder to make sure that Jaskier was still there, he began undressing.

As the hot spring was communal, Jaskier had seen most of Eskel’s naked body before, of course, but he had never taken the time to appreciate it properly. Eskel was as well built as Geralt, if the slightest bit slimmer – still a great deal wider and better built than Jaskier, of course, who may have built up _some_ muscle over the last two decades, and was nearly as tall as Geralt himself, but looked like a stick next to a witcher. Jaskier resisted the urge to look down, instead focusing on Eskel’s muscles flexing as he climbed into the pool and relaxed.

“What do you want, dear?” Jaskier asked softly.

“I want – “ Eskel took a heavy breath, visibly tensed, and then said, “I want you to wash my hair. Please.”

Jaskier was all too happy to oblige. It was hot in the springs, so he stripped most of his layers off, leaving only just enough to be _somewhat_ decent. He grabbed the soaps and oils that he kept in this room for this very purpose and brought them over. One by one, he uncorked them, and passed them under Eskel’s nose. “Pick one,” he instructed.

Eskel dutifully sniffed every single one, and eventually pointed at one of the smaller bottles, the one that smelled of lavender. It was one of Jaskier’s favorites, and therefore one he used sparingly, but he didn’t even for a moment think to object.

“Dunk, please,” Jaskier said softly, and Eskel did so obediently. “Thank you.”

Eskel shuddered at that, and then shuddered again when Jaskier’s soap-covered hands began coursing through his hair, massaging his scalp. At first he did so softly, and asked, “Is this alright?” When Eskel nodded once, Jaskier said, a little more forcefully, “With your words, please.”

“Yes,” Eskel said. And then, his voice extremely quiet, “Can you… more?”

Jaskier smiled at that. “Of course,” he said, and began massaging his hair more thoroughly. With the soap completely covering his hair, Jaskier pulled over a basin and positioned it between himself and Eskel. “Lean back,” he said. “I’m going to pour some water over your head, to get the soap out. After that, I’m going to use this,” he held up the small lavender scented bottle in front of Eskel, “to soften your hair, and I will leave that in. Is that alright? With your words.”

“Yes,” Eskel said, and Jaskier did exactly as he promised.

“Done,” Jaskier said, but as he pulled back, he heard a small whine escape from Eskel’s lips.

Jaskier chanced a look at Eskel’s face. He looked… ashamed and horrified and satisfied all at once, the emotions plain for all to see on his face. “Jaskier,” he said, breathlessly, looking directly as Jaskier. But then he looked away, and once again forced his features into neutrality. “Thank you,” he said, almost mechanically.

Jaskier understood. This was a big step – it took a long time for Geralt to let Jaskier wash his hair, and Eskel jumped straight into it. He’ll need to process this. He patted Eskel’s shoulder twice as he got up, intentionally ignoring the way Eskel’s muscles tensed at the contact. “Any time,” he said, and he hoped Eskel could tell that he meant it.

It took Eskel another five days before he next approached him. Jaskier was lounging on the one couch in the library – well, more of a loveseat, but certainly the only seat with room for him to stretch his legs _on_ the surface rather than off of it. He would never do this with Vesemir in the room, but Vesemir was in the greenhouse, an activity that could often last all day, and Jaskier hoped that meant he had the library to himself that day. Ever since he washed Eskel’s hair, his shadow had left him, meaning that he had truly been alone for the last hour or so.

Until Eskel came into the library.

Thinking it might be Vesemir, Jaskier immediately dropped his legs into a more respectable position, sitting up with his back straight. Upon seeing it was Eskel, however, he relaxed, although he didn’t put his feet back up; he couldn’t be sure Eskel wouldn’t tell Vesemir about it. Lambert wouldn’t, and he hoped Geralt liked him enough to simply scold him, and Coën _definitely_ would, but Eskel was a wild card in that regard.

Eskel simply nodded in his direction, however, and Jaskier decided to focus on his book instead of worrying about whether or not Eskel would tattle. He put Eskel out of his mind completely, in fact, until Eskel sat right next to Jaskier on the loveseat.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow at that, but decided to say nothing.

For a while – perhaps half an hour – that was that. They both sat on the same couch, not quite touching, each engrossed in their own book.

And then Eskel inched closer. Just a bit.

He hid under the guise of a stretch, but Jaskier knew what he was doing. He waited for Eskel to do it again – and he was right. Not three minutes later, and their thighs were already pressed against each other.

So Jaskier did the only thing it made sense for him to do, and he leaned against Eskel.

Eskel froze as Jaskier rearranged himself so his back was leaning into Eskel stomach, his head against his chest. His legs were, as they were on any other seat, in the air on the other side of the loveseat’s arm. Humming to himself, Jaskier waited to see if Eskel was uncomfortable, but after only a moment he relaxed, and Jaskier went back to his book.

Jaskier _was_ surprised, however, when Eskel began carding his fingers through Jaskier’s hair. It was soft, hesitant, but incredible pleasant, and Jaskier let himself moan, just a little. Eskel froze again, but after a moment he continued, with the same lazy pace as before.

Abandoning all pretense of focusing on his book – he had read the same line six times now and absorbed not a word – Jaskier somewhat carelessly dropped the book onto the floor near them (he did feel a little guilty, but Eskel was far more important than a guide to botany) and closed his eyes, focusing on the incredible feeling of Eskel’s fingers passing through his hair.

He didn’t know how much time passed in that position, but eventually his stomach began to rumble, and Eskel pulled away. Jaskier groaned as he rose from his position – it was convenient, but perhaps not the best for his back – and accidentally brushed his hand on –

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Pretending he hadn’t just accidentally felt up Eskel’s _incredibly_ hard cock, Jaskier went to dinner, followed by the man himself.

“Do you remember what we talked about the other day?” Jaskier said later that night, as they were lying in bed, just about ready for sleep.

Geralt grunted. “I told you already, I was lying about the filling-less pie.”

“No, no,” Jaskier waved that away. “Although you will be making up for that particular comment for a _very_ long time, I assure you. No, I’m referring to the conversation we had about… other partners.”

“Oh,” Geralt said. “Have you – “ He coughed. “Have you changed your mind?”

“No,” Jaskier said. “I’m still perfectly happy sharing you and… being shared. My question is – well, how would you feel about sharing me with another witcher?”

Geralt smirked. “Has Lambert made a move? I didn’t think he was your type.”

Jaskier huffed. “I am not interested in _Lambert_ , thank you very much. And what do you mean by _not my type_?”

“Just that,” and Jaskier would give anything to wipe that smirk off of Geralt’s face, “you tend to prefer them _older_. And Lambert is not that much older than you.”

“He’s several decades older than me,” Jaskier pointed out. “And I do _not_ only focus on older people. And I’m not interested in him, anyway, so, not important.”

“Alright,” Geralt said, suddenly seeming apprehensive. “Then what is it?”

Jaskier couldn’t bear the look on Geralt’s face, and he pulled Geralt close to give him a deep, loving kiss. “Hey, there’s no need to be stressed,” Jaskier said. “I told you, I’ll always come back to you.”

Geralt relaxed, a change that no one but Jaskier would probably be able to tell had happened, but that was perfectly clear to Jaskier. Just for that, he kissed him again.

“I think Eskel’s interested,” he said as they pulled apart. “In me.”

Geralt grunted. “What about you?”

“I…” Jaskier drifted off, thinking. “I think I might be amenable. If it’s okay by you.”

“Hmm.”

“I know he’s your brother,” Jaskier said once a couple of moments had passed. “So I understand if that’s off limits, for you.”

“No.”

“No, what?” Jaskier sighed in frustration. “We’ve been working on this. Use your words, Geralt.”

Geralt shifted and pulled Jaskier closer to him. “He’s not off limits. But I’m… _thankful_ you asked me.”

Jaskier turned away so Geralt couldn’t see the small grin on his face. Geralt _was_ getting better with his words, even if the word ‘thankful’ seemed to have taken a gargantuan amount of effort on his part. “Good night, Geralt.”

“Good night,” Geralt echoed, and blew out the candle.


	2. Poetry and Cuddling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is pure author appeal, seriously. I need to talk to someone about poetry and then cuddle them, STAT.  
> Last chapter I forgot to mention something else that inspired this - the fire and powder series by violaceum_vitellina_viridis. I love how feral Jaskier is in that particular fic series.  
> Anyway, thanks for reading, let's get to the fluff now.

Jaskier decided that, although this probably required a delicate approach, as he was not particularly _good_ at the delicate approach, he would face this issue head-on. Or with some combination of the above.

First, he needed to get Eskel to _talk_ to him again. They used to have actual conversations – that’s what endeared Eskel to Jaskier in the first place, and probably the other way around too. Geralt was quiet because he had trouble expressing himself. Eskel was only quiet when he didn’t know what to say. In fact, when he felt the inclination, Eskel could be downright loquacious. So the first step was going to be conversation.

Jaskier didn’t know what the second step was yet, but he’d cross that bridge when he got to it. Or perhaps burn it.

So after his late morning lesson with Ciri – Vesemir and Geralt got her before breakfast for some early training with the rest of the witchers, and Jaskier got her after, to make sure she didn’t become as much of a brute as some of the other witchers (read: Lambert) – he headed to the library, where he’d seen Eskel head earlier, and hoped to be able to strike up a conversation regarding… whatever it was that he would be reading. Eskel had as diverse a range of interests as Jaskier, and although he had had literally a full century longer than Jaskier to get through the library at Kaer Morhen, it was a rather impressive library, once meant for an entire army’s worth of witchers, and no one man could get through the entirety of it in one mere lifetime.

The thought made Jaskier a little sad, actually. Even if he came back to Kaer Morhen every winter for the rest of his life, he only had, at best, another fifty or sixty winters to make his way through the library. It even had a poetry section, full of rare volumes not to be found anywhere else on the Continent, and probably left mostly untouched for the length of its existence. Lambert had certainly never touched it; Vesemir seemed more interested in practical things, and Geralt was not much of a reader, period. Coën was a griffin, and only wintered in Kaer Morhen occasionally; in any case, he didn’t seem to frequent the library any more than Lambert did.

Eskel, though, was currently perusing one of the very same rare poetry volumes Jaskier had just been thinking about.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, and Eskel looked up from his seat, seemingly startled, and closed the tome with a sharp _snap_. Jaskier had to hold back a grin. There was no way that Eskel hadn’t heard or even _scented_ his approach… unless he was incredibly engrossed in the poetry he was reading. Jaskier leaned against a bookcase and folded his arms in a way that he hoped looked charming rather than defensive. “Are you enjoying that?”

Eskel _hmm_ ’d at him.

“I read that earlier this winter,” he continued. “ _Serenades for the Wicked_. I heard of it at Oxenfurt, of course. All of it lost, except for a few fragments we studied rather carefully, preserved in the restricted section of the library, with all the _other_ good stuff.” He wiggled his eyebrows at _good stuff_ , hoping Eskel would catch his drift. A shame witchers couldn’t blush. “Imagine my surprise to find the whole thing, right here, dusty and unopened.”

“Does it live up to its reputation?” Eskel said, his voice rumbling and low. Jaskier suppressed a shiver.

“You tell me,” he said, “you were the witcher who didn’t hear me approach because he was reading it.”

Eskel looked somewhere in between amused and embarrassed. Once again, Jaskier lamented the fact that witchers couldn’t blush. Eskel would look so lovely with rosy cheeks. “I saw you reading it,” Eskel admitted. “I wanted to see what the appeal was.”

Jaskier resisted switching into his teacher persona. Barely. “And what did you think?”

Eskel seemed deep in thought. He mindlessly stroked the back of the spine. “It’s simpler than I thought it would be.”

Jaskier’s neck was getting cramped. He straightened and pulled a chair out, twisted it around so his stomach was leaning against the back of it as he stared at Eskel. Gods, but he was ravishing. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t read much poetry before,” Eskel said, and Jaskier nodded, utterly unsurprised. It wasn’t like the seven liberal arts were taught at Kaer Morhen. “It feels more like… just stories. I thought it was going to be much more… flowery. Like your songs.”

Jaskier scoffed. “Nothing is like my songs.”

“No, I suppose not,” Eskel said, carefully. “But these are… well, it’s love poetry, isn’t it?” When Jaskier nodded, Eskel continued. “I just… I assumed there would be more… I don’t recall what it’s called. When it is a thing but is meant to represent another thing.”

“Metaphor? Simile?” Jaskier offered.

Eskel nodded. “Sure. I – well, the book is older than Vesemir. The language itself is outdated. But it doesn’t seem like it’s – uh – hiding behind… metaphors.”

Jaskier grinned. “No, I suppose it doesn’t. For the most part. But that doesn’t mean it’s simple. Here, give it to me.”

Eskel wordlessly handed _Serenades for the Wicked_ over to Jaskier, who opened the volume to a random page, and nodded to himself before handing it back. “Could you read me the first two verses?”

Although he looked confused, Eskel obliged. The verses were about a warrior who was coming back from a valiant fight against a dragon. She hadn’t defeated it, and was coming home to die in the arms of her beloved, to see him one last time.

“Did you notice anything about the poetry?” Jaskier asked. Eskel shook his head, clearly unsure as to what Jaskier was referring to. “Old Cintran poetry like this, it doesn’t treat rhyme the way we do. For them, rhyme came at the beginning of a phrase – the first sound, rather than the last. And there’s a lot of internal rhyming there, too. They didn’t care much for pentameter, but they did care for form – see how the rhyming scheme is built carefully in triads, so the first line rhymes with the fourth, the second with the fifth, the third with the sixth? Some of the poems in this volume keep the pattern going throughout the entire poem. And of course, many of these used to be set to music. They literally _were_ serenades.”

“I knew that last part,” Eskel said, somewhat petulantly. “When I was a boy, I heard an older witcher sing one of these while drunk. I didn’t know where he learned it from.” He gestured towards the book. “I suppose I do now.”

“Right.” Jaskier stood, and offered his hand to Eskel. “I’m going to get lunch. Join me?”

Eskel only hesitated for a moment before grabbing Jaskier’s hand and used it as leverage to rise. “Yes.”

Jaskier was pleased to find that the first stage of his plan worked, and Eskel was talking to him again. He even listened to him play a new song he was working on and gave some surprisingly helpful notes. Eskel was comfortable around him again. At least, he was when the two of them weren’t around Geralt.

Unlike breakfast, which Jaskier was prone to sleep through, or lunch, which consisted of whatever leftovers he could get his hands on with whoever happened to be in the kitchen with him at the same time as him, dinner was a communal affair, more of a feast, meant to sate the hunger of no less than five active witchers and a growing preteen training alongside them. And after dinner, when Ciri often went to her room, too exhausted to stay up even one minute longer as is and heading towards a food coma too, Vesemir would leave the rest of them, who often wound up drinking the gods-awful homemade vodka and relaxing for maybe the first time that day. Sometimes Jaskier would bring down his lute and play them, taking requests or even playing a new song, if he felt it was ready (so far, this had only happened twice). By the end of the evening, Jaskier, who had learned quickly that he couldn’t handle nearly as much of the drink as the witchers could and therefore refrained from drinking, was often leaning against a somewhat inebriated Geralt, strumming his lute lightly, ignoring Geralt’s grumbling.

And whenever this happened, Eskel got uncharacteristically quiet, which frustrated Jaskier to no end, so tonight, as the witchers’ energy was winding down, he made his way over to Eskel and leaned against him instead.

Eskel stilled, and Jaskier caught him shooting a look at Geralt, who raised an eyebrow, nodded once, and returned to the conversation. Thankfully, at that, Eskel relaxed.

It was late; hours had passed since dinner, and Jaskier felt his eyes droop. He leaned his head onto Eskel’s shoulder, who responded by hesitantly wrapping his arm around Jaskier. In response, Jaskier snuggled even closer.

Jaskier didn’t even notice himself falling asleep, but eventually Eskel pushed Jaskier gently away and said lowly, “Come on, time for bed.”

Lambert was sure to tease Eskel and Jaskier both for this later, but Jaskier couldn’t make himself mind when Eskel helped him get up and all but carried him to his room. Not Geralt’s room, Jaskier noticed blearily, but the room he’d been staying in before Geralt kissed him. Gods, that felt like a lifetime ago.

Eskel gently led Jaskier to the bed, stripped him of his outer layers down to his smallclothes, and made to leave once Jaskier was safe under the covers.

“Stay,” Jaskier mumbled, opening his eyes as wide as he could get them despite his drowsiness. He knew that Eskel could hear him, even if he had spoken lower.

Eskel froze, looking pained at his indecision.

“Come on,” Jaskier continued, “it’s cold. Please stay.”

Eskel made a strange choking sound, but nodded. He quickly stripped, and Jaskier scooted over to make room. His bed wasn’t as big as Geralt’s, and no matter what, they would end up close, but he wanted to make Eskel feel somewhat comfortable, like he would have his own space. Finally, Eskel climbed into bed beside him. For a moment, they were both still and silent.

“Do you mind if I – ?” Jaskier began, turning towards Eskel. There was nothing but moonlight to light up the room, but Jaskier could still see Eskel nod, and Jaskier carefully scooted closer, huddling Eskel for warmth. “Good night,” he said, already feeling himself drifting off to sleep.

“Good night,” Eskel answered softly, just as Jaskier felt sleep overtake him.


	3. It Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the change in rating and the new tags!  
> This is my second time ever writing smut, and the previous time was _years_ ago. There's every chance it is absolutely terrible. If you wish to skip it, I marked the beginning and the end of it with an asterisk (*), so you can avoid it. Nothing happens in it except sex.  
> Well. Here goes nothing.

Jaskier was _hot_ when he woke. He quickly realized this was because he was being held from behind by a large, warm body; the arms around him were strong and holding him tight, close against a firm, wide chest, and the body easily enveloped him.

It was nice. Very nice.

“I know you’re awake,” Eskel muttered, and Jaskier could _feel_ his voice rumbling against his back. The sensation sent shivers down his spine.

“Oh? What gave it away?”

“Your breath,” Eskel said.

Jaskier wriggled his way into turning around to face Eskel without Eskel having to let go of him. “Oh,” he exhaled softly at the sight.

Eskel was beautiful like this.

The sun’s soft morning rays lit his sleep-ruffled hair, turning the brown into a beautiful golden color that matched his eyes. He looked relaxed, like he slept well, and a small smile spread on his face. Before he even knew when he was doing, Jaskier reached out to touch his face, and Eskel leaned into his palm just a little, closing his eyes for just a moment. Jaskier itched to kiss him. “Eskel,” he said softly, so softly that only a witcher would be able to hear him. Eskel opened his eyes, and Jaskier could see the hunger there, matching his own. Slowly, his heartbeat thundering, he closed the distance between them and brought his lips to Eskel’s.

For a moment, that was it; a soft pressing of one pair of lips to another. Jaskier began to fear that perhaps he misread the situation, but before he knew it, Eskel kissed him back, placing his own hand on Jaskier’s neck, pulling him even closer. The kiss deepened, Jaskier’s heart threatened to break through his chest, he was breathless; Eskel pulled back, and Jaskier heard himself whine, chasing Eskel’s lips, but Eskel moved his hand and lightly pushed Jaskier’s chest so they had some distance between them. Jaskier noted with some pride that Eskel looked as wrecked as he felt.

“What is it?” Jaskier asked as he attempted to catch his breath.

“Geralt,” Eskel choked.

Jaskier couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing, before catching himself and calming down as quickly as he could. Still a giggle escaped him before he said, “Is that what’s been holding you back?”

Eskel looked offended, and pulled back even further. “He’s my brother,” he said. “I wouldn’t – I _won’t_ – betray him, or his trust, just because...” Eskel coughed and didn’t finish the sentence.

Jaskier smirked, just a little. “Did you not notice that he’s fucking both me and Yennefer?”

Eskel made a face that was so adorable that Jaskier wanted to immediately kiss him. “Yes,” he admitted, looking away from Jaskier. “I just assumed…”

“What, Geralt can do what he wants but I can’t?” Jaskier scoffed. “I’m my own person.”

“I know that,” Eskel rushed to say, “but – it’s Geralt,” he finished lamely.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “If it makes you feel better, Geralt knows.”

“He – what?!”

“I told him over a week ago.”

“You told him – what, exactly?”

“That you were interested,” Jaskier said. “That _I_ was interested.”

Eskel looked utterly gob smacked; once again, Jaskier lamented the fact that witchers couldn’t blush, because he definitely would have now, and it would’ve been _adorable_. “I – “ He cleared his throat. “Was it – in the library?”

“I mean, yes,” Jaskier admitted. “But I already suspected it beforehand.” Jaskier reached out to place a palm against Eskel’s chest, right above his heart. “Now. Is everything settled? Can I kiss you again?”

Eskel nodded, and Jaskier did, in fact, kiss him again.

*

The kiss grew heated quickly. Jaskier placed on hand on Eskel’s neck and pulled him closer; their noses brushed against each other a bit awkwardly, and Jaskier smiled into the kiss. He moved away from Eskel’s mouth, kissing his jaw, down his neck, and he heard Eskel’s breath hitch. “Is this alright?” he murmured against Eskel’s skin. He could hear Eskel’s gulp, could feel him nod. Eskel pulled him closer and used his hand to tilt Jaskier’s face up, kissing him on the mouth again. Jaskier’s hands wandered to Eskel’s shirt, toying with the hem. Eskel pulled away from the kiss, visibly breathless – _I did that_ , Jaskier thought to himself proudly – and removed the shirt. It was now Jaskier’s turn for a hitched breath as he was hit with the fantastic view that was Eskel’s toned chest.

“Oh _gods_ ,” he whispered. “Can I - ?”

Eskel nodded, and in lieu of a verbal answer, placed one of Jaskier’s hand on his chest. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Jaskier leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eskel’s left pec, right over his heart.

“Jaskier – “ Eskel choked.

“Shh,” Jaskier said in a soothing voice. “Let me take care of you.” He kissed Eskel’s left pec again, and then his right pec, followed by a trail of feather-light kisses down his stomach. Eskel groaned when Jaskier reached his smalls, pulling his hard cock out.

“ _Oh_ ,” Jaskier muttered. “Oh this is gorgeous.” He looked up at Eskel. “I would very much like to suck you off. Would you mind?”

“ _Please_ ,” Eskel moaned, and who was Jaskier to deny him?

Jaskier gently pushed Eskel onto his back and settled into a more comfortable position between Eskel’s spread legs. Eskel’s cock was deliciously large, and Jaskier could feel his own erection hardening at the thought of putting it in his mouth, the thought daunting and yet incredibly hot. He leaned down and licked down the length of it; Eskel shuddered, _hard_. Jaskier pulled back, for just a moment, and glanced at Eskel’s expression; his lidded eyes looked back, and he looked blissed out.

And then he put his mouth on the tip of Eskel’s cock and began bobbing up and down. He could taste Eskel’s precum, salty but appealing nonetheless. He reached up to grab onto Eskel’s hip, his grasp tight enough that, were Eskel a normal human being, it would leave bruises in the shape of his fingers, and without warning took all of him down his throat.

Eskel’s groan was nearly delectable; Jaskier was _incredibly_ hard, and when Eskel began fucking into his mouth, his pelvis jerking upwards in uneven stuttering movements, he nearly came in his pants. That wouldn’t do; oh, what he would give to stretch Eskel open, to slick him up with oil, to slide his cock in, to take Eskel apart bit by bit and cum _inside_ him. _Another time_. Jaskier moaned around Eskel’s cock at the thought, and without warning, Eskel came down his throat with a barely-audible sob. Jaskier released Eskel’s cock with an audible _pop_ and swallowed everything down. Eskel groaned at the sight, and pulled him to meet his mouth with a searing kiss.

As they kissed, as Eskel’s tongue explored Jaskier’s mouth and no doubt tasting his own cum, Eskel’s hand travelled down and lingered at on top of Jaskier’s trousers. Jaskier nodded, and Eskel put his hand inside and began stroking his length, using Jaskier’s precum as a lubricant. Now it was Jaskier’s turn to shudder and groan into their kiss, and he came embarrassingly quick, no doubt staining his pants and turning them into a sticky mess. Jaskier couldn’t bring himself to care at that moment in time. He kissed Eskel one last time and used his last remaining energy to pull away and fall onto his back, panting hard. Eskel wouldn’t let him get away, however, and pressed himself against Jaskier’s side, throwing an arm onto his stomach and kissing his neck.

*

“That was nice,” Jaskier murmured. “An excellent way to start the morning.”

Eskel laughed, nuzzling Jaskier’s neck. “It really was.”

They stayed in bed for a while longer, exchanging lazy kisses and reassuring words, but eventually Jaskier had to change out of his soiled pants, and Eskel left to go to his room to change as well. He must have done it as fast as witcherly possible, because by the time Jaskier closed the door behind him, Eskel was standing outside his door, waiting to escort him to breakfast, where he sat in between Eskel and Geralt. It was, perhaps unsurprisingly, a pleasant breakfast. Jaskier had no doubt that Geralt – really, everyone at the table besides Ciri – could smell what they’d been doing not ten minutes earlier, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care.

This morning was perfect. Jaskier couldn’t imagine a way this winter could get better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's it for this fic!  
> There's at least one more fic in this universe that will hopefully get published soon; it's about a third of the way written, and it's Geralt's pov of the first fic, probably continuing a little past the ending, and written in the style of that fic rather than my normal style (aka the actual narrative style of this fic with dialogue and everything). I'm entering exam period, however, and have a ridiculous amount of movies to watch (22 left for one course, 12 and a half for another) as well as several papers to write, so I can't guarantee it'll be published before August.  
> I hope you enjoyed this fic, awkward smut and all.  
> Comments give me life.  
> JustGail


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